


Valonqar

by little0bird



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s08e05 The Bells, Episode: s08e05 The Bells, Fix-It, Implied Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jaime is the Valonqar, POV Jaime Lannister, Valonqar Prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 20:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: He saw Cersei before she knew he was there.  She ran through the bowels of the Red Keep. To escape?  To light the wick that would destroy half of King’s Landing, while Daenerys destroyed the other half?‘Cersei.’  Jamie spoke from the shadows.‘Jaime!’  Cersei veered toward him, arms outstretched.  ‘You came back for me!’ she sobbed.Jaime’s left hand rose and settled at the base of her neck.  ‘No.’





	Valonqar

Jaime stopped his horse on the crest of a hill, overlooking the ruins of the Great Sept. Tommen’s ashes were long gone, but Jaime wanted -- no, _ needed _\-- to stop here for just a moment. To make a promise. To make a vow. To make things right by his son. 

He dug his heels into the horse's side and continued his approach of the siege around King’s Landing. The army had grown larger as houses flocked to Jon Snow’s banner. _ I’d bet my sword Daenerys Targaryen doesn’t like that. _ She’d been visibly displeased by the way in which the Northerners celebrated Jon, but not her, even though her armies had made the difference between survival or certain death. Truth be told, most of the Northerners and many Westerosi didn’t consider her Westerosi to begin with, despite her birth on Dragonstone. Jaime could pick out the green and gold of the surviving Tyrell men, the red and blue of the Tullys, even the black and gold of men still loyal to the Baratheons. He could even make out the scarlet and gold of Lannister men. He wasn’t surprised. They didn’t serve Cersei. They had served under Tywin. They had served with him. And even with Tyrion. But never his sister. Jaime supposed brutally murdering hundreds of innocent people in a sacred place might have turned them against her. Not to mention reneging on promised aid against the dead. It must have been the breaking point for many of them, and Jon Snow arriving at the gates of King’s Landing had surely been the answer to their prayers.

As he drew closer, Jaime could see where Tyrell and Lannister men had painted the Stark sigil on their armor. Clever of them. They wouldn’t be mistaken for Cersei loyalists in a fight.

He paused and sat, staring at the red walls, glowing in the fading light. Tomorrow, it might be over. He felt a pang at the thought of Brienne, but she would be better off if he was dead. Her knighthood would always carry the taint of having been granted by the Kingslayer. If he were gone, perhaps the memories of him would fade, and people would only see Ser Brienne, one of the few knights who embodied the ideals of knighthood.

So lost was he in remembering Brienne’s smile, he never noticed Jon Snow’s Lannister men mounted on horses that galloped up the hill to surround him. 

* * *

Jon ducked into the tent to find the last person in the world he thought should be in King’s Landing. ‘You ought to give me your sword,’ he blurted. Jaime unbuckled his swordbelt and handed it to Jon, who wrapped the belt around the scabbard. ‘I thought you were stayin’ in Winterfell.’

‘I was. Then we received your raven.’ Jaime closed his eyes, still able to hear Brienne weeping as he rode through the gates. He looked up at Jon then. ‘You don’t seem surprised to see me.’

‘Sansa sent a raven after you left,’ Jon told him. ‘Said you meant come here.’ 

‘There is something I need to do in the Red Keep. Something only I can do. Your Grace.’

Jon opened a trunk and stowed Jaime’s sword inside it. He closed the lid and sat on the edge of it. ‘I’m nobody’s king. No’ even king in the North.’

‘I refuse to recognize Daenerys Targaryen or my sister as queen.’ Jaime rubbed his hand over his face. ‘You’re currently the closest thing Westeros has to a king or queen.’

Jon grimaced. ‘I doubt anyone would consider the bastard o’ a Northern lord their king. Besides, I bent the knee to Daenerys.’

Jaime was far too exhausted to verbally spar with anyone. ‘Do you mind if I sit?’ Jon indicated the cot and Jaime sank gratefully to it. ‘But did you mean it or was it expedience so she would assist you with the dead?’ Jon’s head ducked slightly, but he remained silent. ‘You did what was necessary, Your Grace.’

‘If no one ever calls me “Your Grace” again it will be too soon,’ Jon remarked, finding a length of rope. He picked up a chair and set it next to the tent pole. ‘I hate to do this to you, but it will look suspicious if I don’t. I won’t tell Daenerys you’re here, but word will get to her.’

‘Of course. I was always on borrowed time with her.’ Jaime heaved himself to his feet and stumbled to the chair. He wasn’t bothered by the rope. It was far preferable than being chained. As long as Jon didn’t bind his arms to his sides, Jaime didn’t care what Jon did to him.. 

Jon loosely tied Jaime’s arms to the chair, then his ankles. ‘I’ll keep you here for now.’ He stirred the coals in the brazier and added a few more sticks of wood. ‘I’ll send someone in wi’ food.’ He left, leaving Jaime quite alone inside the tent.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but judging by the numbness in his arse, it had been hours. He couldn’t see the entrance, so every noise made him tense in apprehension. Was it an Unsullied come to slit his throat? One of the Northerners, perhaps? It could be one of the Tullys. They had ample reason to want to kill him. His head fell back against the tentpole, and Jaime let his eyes drift shut and tried not to imagine the fate that awaited him. He heard the unmistakable sound of the tent rustling as someone pushed through the opening. 

There was an interminable pause. Jaime’s eyes snapped open. ‘Seven hells… If you’re going to kill me, just do it quickly and get it over with, you motherless son of a whore.’

‘I know Father could be a cold-hearted bastard, but I don’t recall you ever speaking that way about our mother,’ Tyrion said drolly. He appeared in front of Jaime, carrying a bundle in his arms. ‘You’re supposed to be in Winterfell.’

‘I left.’

‘Obviously.’ Tyrion set the bundle down. ‘Who recognized you?’

‘Lannisters. Or they used to be. The glove I used to hide the bloody golden hand was torn. And it looks unnatural no matter what. It aroused suspicion. And they don’t know that I’ve been allied with the North, so they brought me to Jon Snow as a prisoner.’ He tugged at the ropes. ‘I rather think this is more for show than to keep me here.’

‘I see…’ Tyrion studied his older brother, then produced what proved to be a small knife, likely pilfered from the dinner table. He sawed through the ropes that bound Jaime to the chair. The ropes slithered to the floor_ . _ ‘I tried to come sooner, but I couldn’t get away from Daenerys.’

‘How did you know I was here?’

‘A certain acquaintance of ours. Formerly the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.’ 

Jaime nearly laughed. Of course Jon would have informed Tyrion he was here. ‘I don’t suppose you brought any food?’ Jaime asked hopefully, his stomach rumbling. Resignation in the face of one’s own death didn’t mean he had to die with an empty belly. Tyrion handed him a small pouch. Jaime inspected the contents with an internal shrug. Soldier’s rations. Dried beef. A hard biscuit. Dried apples. It was better than nothing. Tyrion took a cup from a side table and poured wine from a skin he had slung over a shoulder. 

‘Why did you leave Winterfell? You were safe there.’

Jaime dunked the biscuit into the wine to soften it. He looked Tyrion straight in the eyes. ‘I’m going to kill Cersei,’ he pronounced. 

The color drained from Tyrion’s face. His took a wobbling step toward Jaime and grasped the arm of Jaime’s chair to steady himself. ‘But you will die,’ he said hoarsely.

‘Yes. I probably will.’ Jaime had reconciled himself to it days ago, as his horse carried him past Moat Cailin. There was no scenario he could imagine that allowed him to live. _ Just as well, _ he mused to himself. _ I’d have to add Queenslayer to my titles… Jaime, first of his name, of House Lannister. Kingslayer, Queenslayer, Kinslayer, Oathbreaker… The Man With Shit for Honor… _

‘And Ser Brienne?’ Tyrion’s quiet query intruded on Jaime’s thoughts. Jaime clenched his teeth, and inhaled deeply through his nose. ‘It’s better for her this way,’ he muttered.

‘You might have brought her with you,’ Tyrion pointed out. ‘She’s a capable fighter and hardly a liability. I don’t envision Sansa saying no, especially if it meant Cersei would be the other end of someone’s sword.’

Jaime picked at a loose thread in his trousers. ‘If I had managed to convince Brienne to accompany me, and we failed, Cersei would most likely bind my hands and feet, gag me, then fuck me while she forced Brienne to watch. Then she would kill Brienne - slowly and painfully - in front of me.’ He knew without hesitation, that Cersei wouldn’t rest until she could have Brienne paraded around the court on the end of a rope, then executed in as public a manner as possible. He’d lost much sleep over the past month over this very thought. Various scenarios played out behind his closed eyelids each time he had tried to sleep. ‘Could you risk a person you love in that way?’

Tyrion shook his head. ‘No. I suppose not.’ He rested one of his hands on Jaime’s knee. ‘Must it be you?’

‘I doubt she’d let anyone else but me get close to her,’ Jaime argued. ‘There’s a much greater chance she’ll have me arrested and thrown into a black cell before I could do so much as say her name.’ He waved it aside, fishing the biscuit from the wine. It was soft enough to eat. ‘I have to try.’ 

Tyrion was deeply unsettled by the calm certainty on Jaime’s face. ‘Why?’

Jaime cocked his head to one side, and swallowed the bite of biscuit. ‘If Cersei defeats Daenerys, she will kill the both of us, then send what’s left of her army north. Every man, woman, and child that still lives would die, unless they manage to get to Castle Black and flee through the Wall. And I don’t see Sansa Stark giving up Winterfell to Cersei without a fight.’ His eyes drifted shut, and he swayed a little, fighting sleep. He was nearly spent. Too little sleep. Too little food. The cold that had seeped into his bones over the endless miles from Winterfell to King’s Lansing. 

‘But it does not have to be your hand that carries out the act,’ Tyrion insisted. ‘I can arrange for you to go to Pentos. You can leave this behind. Make your way back to the North. Let Daenerys defeat Cersei.’

Jaime shook his head. He opened his eyes and looked into Tyrion’s. ‘No. I swore a vow to defend the innocent. It’s time I upheld that vow, like I should have done.' _ Just as Brienne would do _. ‘And if it means that I trade the life of one oathbreaking Kingslayer for thousands of innocents, then I won’t die in vain.’ Cersei had already proven she wasn’t above using wildfire to destroy perceived enemies. He wondered if she had more wildfire caches hidden in King’s Landing. He didn’t put it past her. The only question was where. Had she been as thorough as Aerys had been? Had someone located the remains of Aerys’ stashes of wildfire? He only hoped he could kill her before she had a chance to order someone to set it alight. He drained the cup of wine, set it down, then squeezed Tyrion’s hand. ‘I can only hope that I can kill Cersei before the Mountain kills me.’ He leaned forward so his forehead touched Tyrion’s. ‘Daenerys Targaryen has wanted me dead since she set foot in Westeros. If your queen wins, and I still live, she’ll execute me for all of King’s Landing to see. You know that as well as I do. And I refuse to give her the satisfaction.’ He let out a shuddering breath. Better to die now, rather than waiting in a cell, wondering if the next time the door opened, it would be guards to drag him to his death. Daenerys would be just like her father. She would burn him alive. Brienne wouldn’t be able to save him from Daenerys a second time. There was no battle for which they would need the services of a disgraced, one-handed, besmirched knight.

Tyrion cradled Jaime’s face between his hands. ‘Good fortune to you, brother.’ His face crumpled. ‘You are the best of us,’ he said hoarsely. Jaime slid from the chair to his knees. He folded Tyrion in his arms and embraced him for what would most likely be the very last time. Tyrion drew back, peering at Jaime’s face, then stepped back. He shoved the dark cloak he’d brought into the tent into Jaime’s arms. It was in the style of the North, with a shaggy fur collar and heavy leather straps that buckled under the arms. Jaime awkwardly swung it over his shoulders, then Tyrion fumbled with the buckles to fasten it into place. ‘There’s a path into the crypt under the Red Keep from the shore of Blackwater Bay. It’s in a cave. The mouth of the cave looks like an ordinary fissure in the cliff. The entrance to the crypt itself is a few feet above your head. You’ll have to climb some rocks, but once you're in the crypt, I’m sure you can find Cersei from there. If you hear bells, the city’s surrendred. If you’re still alive…’ Tyrion drew the hood over Jaime’s head. He handed Jaime the rest of the food, as well as the wineskin. Tyrion pressed the small knife into Jaime’s hand. Jaime tucked it into the leather sleeve of the golden hand. ‘Go now,’ he choked. 

Jaime nodded, then just as he had done when he released Tyrion from his prison cell, kissed him tenderly on the cheek. He got to his feet and took a step toward the opening of the tent, then paused. ‘If you survive this… When you see Lady Brienne… Tell her I was happy with her. She won’t believe you. Not after the way I left. But I was. Happier than I’ve ever been in a very long time. Or have a right to be.’ Jaime cleared his throat. ‘Tell her…’ He exhaled slowly. Jaime shook his head and slipped out of the tent, disappearing into the night.

Tyrion waited several minutes before he exited the tent and walked away in the opposite direction. Daenerys would surely burn him for treason for releasing Jaime, if she were to find out. Even though he was a profound skeptic, Tyrion sent a brief prayer to the Stranger, asking that she be so kind as to allow him to see Jaime in the afterlife, if there was one. 

* * *

It had taken Jaime hours to find the cave Tyrion mentioned. But he was right. A tunnel led directly to crypt and its dragon skulls. The skull of Balerion the Dread loomed in the darkness. Jaime shivered and went back to the cave. He would freely admit the dragon skulls made him uneasy. He slid to the sandy floor of the cave and wrapped the woollen cloak around himself. He could go into her chamber now. Press a pillow over her face. Slit her throat. Shoot her with a crossbow. Maybe Bronn had returned and he could use the one Tyrion had used to kill Tywin. But the thought that Euron Greyjoy might be in bed with her gave Jaime pause. He wanted to face Cersei alone. _ We came into the world, just the two of us. We will leave it in the same manner. _ He hoped his death would pay for his sins. All the lying. His relationship with Cersei. Trying to kill young Bran Stark. To atone for the loss of Myrcella. For Tommen. Maergery Tyrell. Loras Tyrell. Even Mace Tyrell, full of sound and fury, but ultimately said nothing of importance. The Karstark boy. Alton Lannister. Threatening the life of Edmure Tully’s child. Poisoning Olenna Tyrell on Cersei’s orders. 

He slumped against the wall, sleep overtaking him. Jaime welcomed it, hoping to find refuge in his dreams. That his last dreams in this life would be pleasant. Of Brienne riding next to him between Harrenhal and King’s Landing, slowly learning more about one another and discovering they weren’t that dissimilar after all. The scent of crushed soldier pine needles under their bodies in the Wolfswood. He wondered, not for the first time, if she carried his child. She had done nothing to prevent such a thing, as far as he knew. He hoped if she were, it would be a girl. A girl she would teach to fight and to whom she could give Oathkeeper. A child who would be the best of both of them. It was more likely a child would have her mother’s stubbornness and her father’s inability to keep his mouth shut. She would be a formidable girl. Jaime smiled sleepily. He would have liked to see that. 

The bells awoke him. 

Jaime sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The bells rang with no rhyme or reason. It seemed as if every bell in the city clanged with an urgency he’d never heard before. It was deafening, even down in the crypt. 

  
Then suddenly it stopped. 

He stood on a small boulder, stretching up for a handhold, when the sounds of splashing made him stop. Euron Greyjoy staggered from the bay, bloodied and weak. He collapsed on the shore, coughing up water. Jaime’s foot shifted, dislodging pebbles, and Euron looked up. He began to laugh maniacally. ‘Goin’ in to save her are you?’

Jaime ignored him. Or tried to, but a stinging pinch arrested his movements. He looked down to find a small knife protruding from his side. Jaime grabbed the hilt and yanked it out. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to having his hand cut off. The blade was short, but wide. Blood trickled down, soaking into his trousers. ‘It’s time someone stopped you,’ Jaime sighed, sliding off the boulder. He hoped Euron didn’t have a sword. All he had was the knife Euron had thrown at him and the one Tyrion gave him last night. He held Euron’s knife easily in his hand. ‘You must have an incredibly tiny cock with all the posturing you do.’ 

Euron’s eyes widened and he charged at Jaime, knocking him to the ground. The knife fell from Jaime’s grasp, and Euron grabbed it. Jaime managed to scramble to his feet. Euron swung his arm in a desperate arc, and Jaime felt the knife plunge into his arse. His knees buckled, and he landed next to Euron, gasping. Before Euron could react, Jaime tugged Tyrion’s knife from its hiding place, and plunged it into Euron’s neck. Blood welled up from the other man’s mouth, staining his teeth and beard. He twitched a few times, then was still. 

It was then that the scent of smoke reached Jaime. He was running out of time. He limped back to the boulder, and managed to hoist himself into the tunnel. He trudged toward the stairs that would take him to the upper levels of the castle. He wondered if she still sat on the Iron Throne, like a mulish child, while the Red Keep collapsed around her ears. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath, nearly whimpering at the pain from the stab wounds.

_ Don’t fear the pain. _ He heard an echo of Brienne’s voice in his head. _ It means you’re still alive. _

He pushed himself off the wall and hobbled forward. One step, and then the next, keeping his balance with his golden hand braced against the wall. 

He saw Cersei before she knew he was there. She ran through the bowels of the Red Keep. To escape? To light the wick that would destroy half of King’s Landing, while Daenerys destroyed the other half? 

‘Cersei.’ Jamie spoke from the shadows. 

‘Jaime!’ Cersei veered toward him, arms outstretched. ‘You came back for me!’ she sobbed. 

Jaime’s left hand rose and settled at the base of her neck. ‘No.’ His fingers gently caressed the pulse that fluttered in the hollow of her throat. The memories of kissing her there made him ill. How had he ever found her beautiful? ‘You killed Myrcella,’ he said quietly. ‘You falsely accused Tyrion of killing Joffery, and because of that, Oberyn Martell died in a trial by combat…’

‘He chose to defend that monster!’ Cersei declared.

‘He did,’ Jaime said simply. ‘But he wouldn’t have had to do so if you hadn’t lied, cheated, and schemed to have Tyrion proven guilty.’ His fingers tightened ever so slightly. ‘Who did you spread your legs for to make that happen?’

Cersei tried to slap him, but Jaime shoved her against the side of an archway. ‘Had you not done that, Ellaria Sand wouldn’t have wanted vengeance and poisoned Myrcella. And Tommen.’ Jaime’s eyes blurred with tears. He had spent the long miles between Winterfell and King’s Landing examining Cersei’s actions. ‘You couldn’t bear to let him love another. So you enabled the Faith Militant to form again. And it backfired on you. You murdered hundreds of _ innocent _ people.’ _ I charge you to defend the innocent, _he heard himself say to Brienne. 

‘He threw himself out of the window,’ Cersei raged. 

‘Yes. Because your actions hurt him so deeply, he didn’t want to live.’ Jaime’s voice was even, almost eerily so. 

‘He was weak,’ Cersei spat.

‘No. He was neglected and so starved for affection that he fell into Margaery Tyrell’s arms. And you murdered everyone he loved…’ His hand tightened a little more. ‘What did you do with Ellaria Sand and her daughter? Did you kill them? Are they in a black cell? Did you let one of your minions rape them?’ Quickly, before Cersei could react, Jaime spun her around, his arms winding around her body, loverlike. His right arm wound around her neck, and his left hand gripped his arm just above the damned golden hand. She clawed ineffectively at his arm. He squeezed. He could feel her struggle to breathe. ‘We came into this world, together, sweet sister.’ Jaime’s tightened his grip. ‘We fucked it up together. We’re going to leave it together,’ he murmured into her ear as she went limp. Chunks of brick began to fall into the crypt, and Jaime lost his balance. He flung Cersei aside and fell to his knees, instinctively covering his head with the golden hand, even as he felt the blood seeping from the stab wounds. Debilitating wounds, but not mortal under normal circumstances. But this was not normal. He collapsed to his side, curling into himself, the image of Brienne and the smile that had blossomed over her face as he dubbed her Ser Brienne drifting into his thoughts. He hoped she would find it in herself one day to forgive him.

And then the world went black.


End file.
